


Who’s Zoomin’ Who?

by Kateinscarves



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M, Gillovny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27057478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateinscarves/pseuds/Kateinscarves
Summary: David doesn’t like the photo Gillian used to promote their charity Zoom date. Fuckery ensues because of course it does.
Relationships: Gillian Anderson & David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson/David Duchovny
Comments: 1
Kudos: 56





	Who’s Zoomin’ Who?

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t help myself. THESE TWO.

The text banner drops onto her screen to obscure the top line of the BBC article she’s reading as she lays in bed. Scrunching her face at the name, she tries to comprehend the single word.

>> _Really_?

Dragging the text down to allow the dialogue box to take over her screen, she replies.

>>???

>> _That one?_

Perplexed, her brows furrowed and head tilted, she taps her reply.

>>This is Gillian you know

She hears his response in his voice, low and gravelly.

>> _I know that._

She gives her only guess.

>>Are you stoned???

>> _No, why?_

>>Because I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about

Moments later a screenshot of her Instagram post from earlier in the day pops up in the iMessage window, followed by:

>> _This pic. Of all the pics to promote the zoom call you used this old ass one where I look like a serial killer._

She laughs loudly, still smiling when she answers.

>>You always look like a serial killer babe

>> _I’m just saying..._

>>It’s cute and I wanted one where we looked like US not Mulder and Scully  🤮

>> _Hmm..._

>>Hmm what?

>> _Why not this one?_

Before she can even figure out what he’s going to do, he does it. A blurry—but not blurry enough—and very close up photo of her face, taken as she held her nose back with one finger giving a clear shot up her nostrils, with her eyes wide and crazed behind it, comes into the chat.

She laughs heartily again, and says to her empty bedroom, “What the fuck!”

She types:

>>WHY

>>WHY

>>WHY IS THAT SAVED ON YOUR PHONE

>> _When I miss you I look at it..._

>>How sweet 

>> _So then I don’t miss you anymore._

>>Asshole 

She takes a few minutes, but when she finds what she’s looking for in her history, she cackles as she hits send.

>>I’ll post that one tomorrow...with this one

The little DELIVERED designation populates under the image and the three dots indicating he is typing pops up immediately.

>> _You’re bluffing._

The two words pop up next to the photo of him with his lips puckered at the camera, also very close, covered in bright pink lipstick and wearing her Scully wig.

>>Is that a dare??

>> _If you post that one I’m posting this one..._

His entry in the contest is a photo of her in her director’s chair on set, performing exaggerated fellatio on a Twinkie, the cream oozing out of the side of her lips.

>>OMG!

>> _Don’t test me Anderson._

>>I have blackmail too Duchovny

>> _Nothing on my level._

>>You sure about that???

>> _Yeah I’ve seen you fumbling with your phone...probably have your finger covering half the screen._

She chews her lip as she knowingly scrolls to a certain folder on her phone, digs her teeth in hard as she hits send. When the deed is done and the photo is on its way, a heat blossoms in her stomach and her heart rate quickens as she types the accompanying words:

>>Is that my finger?

She giggles to herself, half nervously and half from arousal as she studies the photo, a gem from her own deep archives that stirs something more than just lust—a special shot he’d sent her when he’d gotten his own place in California, to “show her his new hot tub,” which he had decided to go in without clothes and with an enormous erection on that particular occasion. 

He doesn’t type for a good thirty seconds, then an abrupt:

>> _Holy fuck!!_

Followed quickly by:

>> _Where did you unearth that from??_

>>My x-files  👽

>> _That shit better never end up on TMZ. I’ll take you to the cleaners._

>>I mean...it’s flattering

>> _So is this one..._

Her stomach drops with shock and an electric current streams from her belly button down when the picture pops up.

She’s laying on her side on one of the chaise lounges by his pool. She‘s waking from a nap when he had takes it from the chair next to her, so her eyes are sleepy and soft as she gazes back at him, her blonde hair is mussed and almost white while catching the waning sunlight, and her arms are curved around her bare breasts while a tiny towel is barely clinging to her hips.

The memory catches her more off guard than the photo. She can’t muster much of a reply.

>>Wow.

>> _That’s what I say every time I look at it._

She hears it in his voice again, and for a moment he’s there, looking at her like he had been that day, like she was the only person on earth.

She swallows a sudden lump in her throat.

>>And how often is that pray tell??

>> _Often enough._

>>I have some of those too

>> _Like that last one you sent? A whole archive? Do you girls call it a spank bank or is the terminology different?_

She’s chewing her lip again, clicking furiously down a memorized path to a photo she knows well.

>>I don’t know what it’s called but this is the cover:

She wonders if he even remembers her taking it. He is standing in the kitchen of that same house in Malibu, that same summer when they’d lived out a little parallel universe for a few weeks after her divorce and his separation. He has just turned around to face her because she just walked down from the bedroom. He’s holding her favorite mug and the coffee pot in either hand, and he’s gloriously naked otherwise. She loves it because not only is every notch and plane of his body that she knows almost as well as her own perfectly silhouetted by the morning sun, but the look on his face. He didn’t know she snapped the photo, so he’s looking above the camera’s eye at her, and even from the angle of her phone, the happiness is plain and pure.

His reply shakes her from her reverie.

>> _I can see why._

>> _It’s pretty dated though._

>>2012??

>> _Damn near a decade ago now._

She wonders if she’s imagining the wistfulness in his texts, or just projecting. It’s a dangerous consideration so she shoves it aside for another joke.

>>I’m old and so is my “spank bank”

>> _Mine too..._

She thinks the conversation is over, but when a photo of her lying upside down on the white sheets of a hotel bed, craning her neck to look at the photographer—him—standing at the foot of the bed, hair fanned out around her head like a sensual queen’s crown, legs kicked up and crossed on the headboard as she chews a finger and looks up at him with hooded, sex-heavy eyes, her heart leaps again.

>>Mmm. San Diego.

>> _Good memories._

>>GREAT memories

She didn’t know what came over her. Before she really knew what she was doing, she tugged her camisole so one of the straps dropped off her shoulder, exposing the top swell of her breast. She teased the fabric down so the lace stretched gently across her nipple. It took a bit of maneuvering but she found just the right angle to take the photo so that it included her lower lip as she sunk her teeth into it, and hit send before she could think any more, and didn’t bother to send any accompanying pithy response.

For several horrifying seconds, she thought he had abandoned the thread, until those telltale dots popped up, and then the text:

>>... _ what was that for? _

She smirks.

>>Must be the software update on your spank bank

>> _What box do I have to check to receive those automatically?_

>>I don’t know, mine never updates either

>> _Let’s see if I can help._

Her hands gently shake as she clutches the phone. She lets out another giggle, her whole body tingling, when the photo pops up.

He is sitting somewhere in public—in public for God’s sake—and has quickly snapped a close up of a familiar-shaped bulge encased in denim. In case she had any doubt who’s bulge it was, his wrist is resting on the thigh next to it, his all-too-distinct tattoos giving him away.

>>I think I got the G-rated edition

She quips, snickering now.

>> _ I’m with Brick in a public park, do you want me in jail, you filthy woman? _

>>Guess not. They’ll throw away the key on you for sure.

Disappointed ever so slightly, she shrugs mentally as she sets the phone aside. She has plenty of mental imagery to help her get to sleep quite soundly tonight.

A few silent minutes pass before she hears the phone buzz again.

She laughs out loud, she can’t help herself.

He’s standing in the mirror of his closet without a stitch on, gorgeous cock full and at attention, hair finger combed and oh-so-grabbable, mouth turned in that sexy and aggravating smirk...and Brick is in the background on the floor just outside the walk-in, quite obviously and luxuriously licking his own balls.

>>Nice balls. 

>>Yours too, D.

The dots pop up, go away, then pop back up.

>> _ That fucker never misses an opportunity to show me up. _

>>I definitely need these updates to come more often. Have to check my box too.

>> _ Want me to check it for you? _

Understanding the veiled request, she brazenly kicks off the covers, thanks the gods she has a decent pair of blush lacy panties on, and slides her hand down her mons, curling her fingers against the fabric as she touches herself in a way he’ll recognize, and snaps the photo.

>>Is this it?

>> _That’s the one._

>>Yes it appears to be working. Is yours?

>> _Like a charm. That will make a great background for the zoom call._

>>You won’t

She continues curling her fingers, beads of sweat forming on her forehead and on the back of her neck as she imagines him doing the same to himself as he cradles the phone in his other hand.

>> _Imagine the donations if I tease that tomorrow before bidding closes..._

>>Good thing you’re a jealous fuck 

>> _You know me too well. I know you too, and I know what you’re doing._

She sets the phone down to make use of her hand, because he’s right.

Minutes later, her entire body warm and deeply relaxed and deliciously post-orgasm, she picks up the phone again.

>>I miss you Double D

She means it, in every way she can.

>> _I miss you too, G._

>> _Let’s do this more often._

She sinks down into the blankets again, still humming with satisfaction and sated naughtiness.

>>Text? Or software updates?

>> _Yes._

>> 😈


End file.
